Love is like a Sin, my love
by Kroses20
Summary: 3 times Oliver tries to regain Felicity's trust, and the 1 time he finally does. A little angst fic revealing the toll that Nanda Parbat had taken on both Oliver and Felicity


**Love is like a sin, my love**

3 times Oliver tried to regain Felicity's trust and the 1 time he finally does

 **One**

Oliver understood her need for distance, her need for time. He had dragged her through way too much for her lifetime, more than she ever deserved to endure. But, despite it all, despite everything, it didn't break his heart any less.

Not only did Al-Sahim take a piece of his soul with him, he— _it_ —took a piece of her too. The way her smile doesn't glow as much as it used to. The shine in her eyes dimming to a low flicker. The subtle hesitation in her fingers when he moves to hold her hand. The small flinch she does when he kisses her. The doubt he could feel in her bones, defenses standing at the ready, waiting, watching for the reappearance of the demon within him. The walls creeping back up, a sad, wordless abyss forming between them that swallowed him whole.

It didn't break his heart any less.

 **Two**

He never saw her much, with her being upgraded to CEO of her own company now. But he made sure to make his presence known to her, to make sure she knew he would never leave her again.

It was all in the subtleties of small gestures. He would place tiny post-its on the refrigerator in their apartment with little corny jokes to make her laugh—a sound all too rare nowadays. He takes her out on lunch dates, little stops at Big Belly Burger, listening to her talk about new upgrades and proposals she was working on. And every day, without fail, he places a steaming mug of coffee at her desk, just like old times.

Just like better times.

 **Three**

Oliver finds her at Verdant at closing time. Thea had texted him and he drove out as soon as he heard. Her legs dangling lazily from the bar stool, a beer in her hands, her posture hunched forward. Her glasses were thrown lazily across the counter, hair falling down her shoulders in tangled curls. With her face in her hands, he could see marks of dried tears on her sleeves and in that moment, he wished he never had gotten into her car. Never had revealed himself to her. Never had dragged her through the dirt and grime of his crusade.

He never regretted anything more in his life.

He gently lays a hand on her shoulder, careful not to alarm her. She shoots up, as if stricken by a shock of electricity, revealing a pair of wandering, blood-shot eyes. He knew of her nightmares, her little flashes of memories from Nanda Parbat. But he never saw her like this—broken. She was his strength through everything. But maybe, he had to be _her_ strength in times like these.

He cups her cheek gently, fingers drawing lazy circles across her smooth, skin, fitting to the curve of her face like a final puzzle piece. He feels her lean towards his touch, eyes shutting in response, body and mind tired and worn. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees, he carefully lifted her from the stool, feeling her curl into him, fingers splayed across his chest, her breath warm against his collar bone.

"You're safe with me," he whispers gently in her ear, almost inaudibly—a small moment meant only for her and her alone.

It had always been Felicity who had brought him home. And even in her darkest times, she still was.

 **Four**

So this was what peace felt like.

The scent of her filled the apartment, mingling with the aroma of scented candles as they cast a soft, incandescent glow on the stark white walls, the soft hum of music on loop playing in the background. He was cleaning up the last of the dishes from their dinner when he feels two small hands snaking their way across his chest. He feels her breath against the back of his neck, warm and pleasing. Her nose nuzzles into its crook as his lips stretched into a small smile.

"Slow dance with me," she murmurs in his ear, voice running smooth like milk and honey. Finishing the last of the dishes, he turns to face her, back leaning against the counter, running his fingers lazily through her smooth, blonde hair.

"You know I don't dance," he replies, eyes scanning her face, over every line, curve, crevice. She laughs lightly, pulling him away from the counter, and wordlessly, he follows her. She leans into him, her forehead fitting perfectly against the crook of his neck, eyes drifting slowly shut, small hands lying across his chest. He hears her hum the slow, light melody of the song that engulfed them both. A sweet, soft sound.

 _I don't need a laser beam  
I don't need the time  
Leave me in the car tonight  
Rest your drunken mind_

 _I need your grace alone_

His hand reaches up to intertwine with hers. She doesn't flinch or doubt or hesitate.

They weave together, finding their way back to each other, slowly—and then, all at once.


End file.
